Lucky Number Seven

the baptismal tide

leaning against the dock stations railing
waiting for the next train to arrive delayed
in the distance i saw her approach aloof
and not having caught this route before
she was nervously shivering and unsure

sits on a bench and works up her defence
detached distant insecure listless
fixes her hair in a handheld mirror
stares into her own eyes and wonders awhile

its hard to engage with a brain so beautiful
might as well agree shes not meant for you
so instead you adore at a distance finally stalk

walk behind her on a starless night
and brain her with a torch

step back in horror as blood spills onto floor
it was supposed to be romantic now shore
will have to wash the road clean
when high tide fills the streets

and i watched from a distance as
i leaned against the dock stations railing

The Sixth Note

Faithless Men

Faithless, cold, and emotionless.
No stench of fresh cooked bread

or the fresh sea air
mingling with the dead
aroma of men who fish for money
to buy honey
and bread.